


We could be

by dearren



Category: The Maze Runner (2014), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Paradise, Post-Canon, Post-Series, Recovered Memories, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-03-05 00:38:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3098480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearren/pseuds/dearren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ON HIATUS</p><p>youdabossgreanie said: someone write me a +10000 word AU in which Newt is immune and makes it to paradise and after a few months the implant in their heads starts dying cause it was never meant to be permanent and without maintenance the swipe stars wearing off and they have to reconcile with the person they were before and rediscover themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

They'd been through so much.

His bones ached and his skin crawled. 

But he was okay. 

Finally, after months, years, a lifetime of pain and suffering and losses and anticipating the next blow, here he was.

In a last act of what Newt called kindness in a lack of a better word, WICKED had brought them to the probably last safe haven on earth.

They'd been provided with everything to start a life. 

There were many of them. 

Young children, teens, women, men, elders. It was easy to spot Subjects in between, though. Because their motions were just a bit more cautious. Their glances a bit more suspicious. Their smiles a bit more worn. Their eyes a bit more tired.

Being occupied with building a home, though, helped keeping everyone together and after a few months, they had something running closer to normality than anything they could remember. 

And it felt real.

For probably the first time in his life, Newt felt genuinely safe.

He was helping Gally, Aris and a few others building chairs and tables outside the actual village close to the cliff that lead down to the growling ocean.

Minho, Jorge, Harriet, a tall, intimidating woman named Alice and a short teenage girl with long blond hair called Cora had emerged as their leaders. With surprising calmness and sense they'd worked out jobs for everyone and scheduled patrols and working shifts and hunting trips.

Wooden sheds and almost-houses with glass windows formed their campsite which was cradled by a vividly green forest and a crashing blue sea.

They had a meeting hall, several kitchens and somehow WICKED had even made sure they had electricity and running water, which was a miracle to everyone, since they were pretty sure every other person on the planet was either dead or a crank by then.

But it worked and so no one really questioned it.

Brenda had taken it upon herself to build a hospice having been happy to find some medical supplies and, according to her, helpful herbs in the forest by the river.

Frypan and Group A's cook Janine were managing the kitchens with the help of adult Munies. 

There was even a daycare, under the lead of several Gladers, including Thomas and Sonya. 

Newt enjoyed the work he was doing. It kept his mind from wandering to places he didn't want it to go. He was sanding a chair leg as he saw Gally approach, his face red from the sun and the physical work, his strawberry blond hair a sweaty mess.

“Enough of that, shank. You've been here since dawn. Time to get something from the kitchens and get some rest.”

Stubbornly, Newt frowned.

It had been hard, at first, accepting Gally's return. 

Ever since they'd rejoined it had been awkward and uncomfortable between the former Keeper of the Builders and everyone else. But slowly, he was beginning to be re-accepted and the friendship that had once been between him and Newt had started to blossom again.

“Shuckin'. Newt, come one man, ya need some shut-eye if ya wanna keep watch tonight” said Gally, crossing his arms before his chest, nose scrunched up.

Newt sighed and put away his sanding utensils. His bad leg throbbed as he got up, dusting off his pants from sitting in the sand the whole morning. 

“Shuck you, Gally” Newt countered, a smile on his lips. Gally rolled his eyes, seemingly above the mocking. 

“Yeah, whatever, just make sure you're at the Crow's Nest at sundown or else Minho's throw ya down that cliff. Shank's incredibly irritable today.”

“Wouldn't you be, leading this bunch of dumb shanks through every single day without major malfunctions?” Newt shrugged, stretching his arms over his head, palms sore from working with wood for hours.

Just outside town they had used a large, incredibly old looking oak and built a tree-house like platform in it, high enough to overlook the whole camp. They hoped there was nothing to actually look out for, but no one could shake off the feeling a crank or Griever or at least mountain lion could attack them, still. 

So the Crow's Nest was occupied day and night, Immunes keeping an eye open for everything out of the ordinary. 

He hadn't noticed Gally leave but the hot-head was off helping Aris cutting an exceptionally large plank of wood in two and so Newt left as well.

Between the sheds, it was slightly cooler than out in the direct heat of the star that had burned their planet to ashes and still seemed to try it's best doing the same to their little secret spot.

Suddenly feeling tired and hating to admit Gally had been right to send him off, Newt headed straight to his own shed, located in one of the inner rings of the quite circular village.

Inside of the rather spacious wooden building was rarely any furniture. A bed, a nightstand, a desk and a chair. The clothes that WICKED had given them had been carelessly thrown into one corner of the room, books were towering on the desk. 

Books. One of the most precious gifts from the horrifying organization. Newt never knew how much he liked to read because in the Glade they had mainly manuals for building or the like. 

But here, he had actual stories. 

There were biographies of famous people. Nonfiction about the Flare and the Sunflares before and while they happened. But Newt loved the novels the most. There were apparent classics but also pop-culture. There were detective stories, books about magic and adventures. 

He looked at his stack of favorites next to his bed on the floor. 

He closed the curtains that he'd made out of the shirt he'd arrived at Paradise in. In the dim light that remained, Newt flopped down on his bed, taking off his shoes and watch. It had stopped working long ago, probably in the Scorch or when they'd been running from the cranks in the tunnels below a rotten city. 

He still put it on every single day when he woke up at exactly the same time as he would have when he had been a Runner. 

Yet, there were no Doors grinding open, no Alby kissing the top of his head. He shut his eyes. He didn't want to think about Alby right now.

Falling back against the surprisingly soft cushion, blanket over himself, he stared into the almost darkness. 

Other than in the Glade, where he would lay awake, listening to the sounds of the Maze changing and the low moans of the creatures within, or the Scorch, where the terrifying screams and laughs of the cranks rang through the too hot too dry air, Newt drifted off into a blissfully dreamless sleep soon after.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING for
> 
> height

Three loud bangs on his door woke him. He didn't shoot up, bathed in sweat or crying and shaking like he'd gotten used to over the last three years.

Instead, he groaned and turned on the other side, clutching his blanket.

“Wakey-wakey, shuck-face. Time for the Crow's Nest.” 

It was Minho's voice that sliced through the silence and Newt remembered Gally's comment about the former Runner being extremely cranky that day.

“I'm on my way, Minho, calm down” Newt said back and he didn't have to see his friend to know he was rolling his eyes and probably tapping a foot.

Not wanting to drive Minho any more up the tree as he already was, Newt hurried, putting on his shoes and watch, ruffling his hair and opening the door to be met by Minho, frowning, a torch in his hand.

“Good to see ya too, shank” Newt joked nonetheless.

Minho seemed to relax a little now that they were moving towards the Crow's Nest after all. 

The sky above was pitch black already, white stars blinking faintly behind a thin layer of gray clouds. Distant conversations, laughter and snores hung in the cool air.

“What's up with you today, then” asked Newt, nonchalantly. 

They'd been through too much together for Minho to start hiding things from his friend now. Newt wouldn't have that and Minho obviously knew, because he exhaled and rose his hands as if to defend himself.

“It's Thomas, man. He had a nightmare about Teresa, last night and been out of it the whole day.”

“Can you blame him?” Newt frowned. 

Minho shook his head, heavily.

“No, course not. I just wish she would just stop haunting him already. Shank's been through enough already yet he isn't even able to shake it off for a few hours to shuckin' sleep. I'm just really worried, ya know?”

They were passing a group of twenty-something women and men, giggling, the faint, familiar smell of Gally's famous brewage hanging in the air around them. 

Minho ignored them. Normally, the Asian kid would've yelled at the irresponsible others, hurrying them inside their sheds with a few courses falling off his lips. 

Newt understood how much the situation with Thomas bothered his normally composed and strict friend. In the light of the flickering fire of the torch he almost thought he saw a stray tear running down Minho's cheek.

“Maybe, ya know, you should take a day off or somethin' and just focus on Thomas, entirely. Fussing about him, giving the big ol' overprotective Glader Mum.”

“Isn't that your part” Minho chuckled, simultaneously pressing the heel of his hand against his eye.

“Yeah, but you have my permission.”

Because he didn't know what else to do, he elbowed Minho lightly, having the other smile at him, weakly. They'd reached the end of the sandy pathway, the Crow's Nest a few feet to their right. Minho stopped and Newt turned towards him, taking a few steps backwards, hands in his pockets.

“I'll think about it. Thanks, Newt.”

He nodded. It was nice to be able to help. It was nice, that Minho trusted him enough to talk to him about stuff like that. The usually serious, almost intimidating leader, locking his emotions away. He handed the torch to Newt who took it with a grin. 

“Good that.”

\----

Newt used to be afraid of heights. He used to back away in terror at the sight of the mazewalls that were so high that if you stood right in front of them, they seemed to be going on forever, never ending, never touching the always blue sky above.

The platform of the Crow's Nest was approximately 30 feet above the ground and Newt sat on the very edge of the wooden structure, his legs dangling freely, arms crossed on the lower of the double railing.

He saw most of the windows lit up by lamps inside because, after months, the nights still were scary. 

The cry of a bird could turn into the scream of a Griever. The shadow of someone passing by the window might have the terrible visage of a Crank. Nightmares terrorized everyone. Almost every night ended with at least one Immune waking up crying or yelling for help or someone they'd lost, dead names collecting in the fresh morning air.

Newt was just glad that it was less and less his or Minho's or Thomas' voices that echoed through the rows of sheds, waking children and adults alike, sad recognition on their faces. 

He noticed his breathing had become slow and his blinking too and so he stood up, walking circles to keep from tiring too much. Despite everything, all the peace they'd lived in the last half a year or so, something could happen and he wouldn't have it happened on his watch.

“Hey, nervous, much?”

Startled by the sound of Thomas' voice, Newt bent over the railing, holding the torch out to spot the other Glader standing below him.

“You look like klunk, man.”

“Thanks, slinthead.”

“You wanna come up and hang?” It was an offer to talk. Thomas took it, gladly and climbed up the ladder, joining Newt on his watch, even though his eyes looked too dull to see anything in the dark.

They sat in silence for a few minutes just letting their gazes roam over their home. Home. It had a bitter taste to it.

“I dreamed about Teresa again” Thomas husked. He didn't know that Newt had heard the news before. “Her dying and all. Shuck, man. Why'd she have to die.”

Newt laughed, humorlessly. “There's no bloody answer to that and you know it, Tommy.”

The other just blankly stared into the distance. Newt noticed that Thomas was wearing one of Minho's shirts. It was a little too baggy for him. 

He smiled, slightly. Thomas didn't notice. He was way too caught up in his own thoughts.

“I miss her” he proposed.

“I know” replied Newt. 

“She was my best friend. Telepathy link and all that klunk. It's like … it's like a part of my body's gone missin' when she ...”

Newt had put the torch into a leather holder that had been attached to one of the branches of the tree. He scooted closer to his friend, placing a hand on his arm. A friendly gesture. Something he knew Thomas needed right now.

“It's alright. I hear ya. But listen, you shouldn't be tellin' me this.”

Thomas turned his head to Newt, his eyes watering.

“Not that I don't care, I bloody do. But, honestly, you know who you should be having a talk with right now” said Newt, tugging at Thomas' sleeve. The other boy blushed visibly and Newt let out an amused giggle. 

“Come on, Tommy. Before ya came here, Minho was drivin' me nuts worryin' about you.” 

He wasn't actually annoyed by it though. In reality, Newt quite enjoyed it. Being The Glue between his two best friends. The tattoo on his neck itched as if to reassure him.

“He was?” Thomas asked, doubtful yet his eyes had lit up a little and Newt took it as a good sign. 

“Yeah. Just make it official, alright. Can't stand ya two lovesick shucks anymore.”

“Shuck you” Thomas said but there was a laugh hidden behind his words and he gave Newt a friendly clap on the back. 

Without exchanging anything more besides a meaningful glance, Thomas left and Newt could just hope that his friend would rush to Minho's shed and kiss the worry from the other boy's lungs.

The smile that had brightened up Newt's features fell a few minutes later, slowly, it was vanishing like the sun at the end of the day and he was left to ponder his mind, ignoring the longing. 

His leg ached dully.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS for
> 
> Mentioned insomnia  
> panic attacks (graphically described!)

The sky was beginning to turn a slight pastel shade of pink and orange and lilac when Karina, a pale girl from Group B, arrived, stating it was her turn in the Crow's Nest.

Newt was glad to be done with his shift as he hadn't been able to stop his thoughts from returning to Alby time over and over again, finding himself distracted by the feeling of physical loss. He'd come so far, lost so many along the way that he didn't dare to count. 

Although, he was, despite it all, okay.

He climbed down the stairs, ignoring the pain in his bad leg and made his way to the kitchens. Hopefully, he would find one of the cooks already being awake at four in the morning though he had little hope that any of them were suffering from insomnia. 

\----

A few hours later Newt woke up and felt like having been rolled over by a Griever. Repeatedly. He was a new level of groggy, his bones seemed to have been replaced with clay and his brain was filled with honey, slowing his thoughts. An agonizing pain was radiating from his leg and his insides revolted.

“Shuck this” Newt groaned, arching his back as his stomach cramped. 

Minho and Thomas' sheds were next to his but he didn't feel like shouting for them like a pathetic little kid.

With a lot of effort, Newt managed to sit up in his bed, only to black out, the sensation sending shivers down his spine. Trying to see anything through the haze, Newt reached out for the stick he'd made in his first week in Paradise, leaned heavily on it and got to his feet.

His brain felt like soup in his head and he was afraid it would come out of his mouth so he kept it shut and silently made his way to the door and even crossed half the clearing in the middle of their camp before he was almost run over by Brenda and a tall guy in his thirties called Gregory. 

The two Med-jacks vanished into Thomas' shed and Newt had the unshakable feeling that he wasn't the only one being sick. 

Slowly and on wobbly feet, he walked the distance to Thomas' shed, entering without knocking. Inside, the boy lay in his bed, completely still, Brenda stroking and petting his head while Gregory fiddled with a syringe. That was when Newt finally threw up.

“Shuck, man, Newt” Brenda turned to him and if it weren't for his stick he would've fallen down already. The room seemed to grow bigger before his eyes, the three people becoming tiny ants until he couldn't see them anymore. His head spun and he had to close his eyes to suppress the urge to scream in terror.

A hand on his chest steadied him. He hadn't noticed his breathing becoming shallow and ragged.

“Newt, Newt can you hear me?”

The girl's voice sounded strange and very far away. Muffled, somehow. He concentrated.

“Newt, talk to me, boy” said Gregory. Newt could see the man's face swimming before his eyes, dripping to the floor as if it was melting. Thomas still didn't move and Newt felt cold as ice.

“He's heating up” Brenda's voice said. His vision had blackened once again and he fell completely against the woman who put her arms around his middle to keep him on his feet. 

“Greg, go and get the other Med-jacks and check on the rest of the Gladers. I think whatever this has somethin' to do with WICKED.”

He more felt than saw Gregory brush past him and out of the hut as he was half dragged half pulled into it by Brenda. Did he turn his head to follow the man leaving?

“Bloody hell” Newt coaxed. His eyes hurt with pressure and the irrational fear of them exploding out of his head tightened his chest. He was pulling and tugging hysterically at his shirt as if it was constricting him.

“Breathe, Newt” said Brenda, calmly as she lay Newt down next to Thomas on the bed. But he couldn't. The back of his hand brushed against Thomas' and he sucked in a sharp breath. 

“Is he – is he …? Am I? What's - ?”

He was full on panicking now. He felt like wrapped in a thick blanket and tried to fight it away but his legs and arms wouldn't move. It was terrible. He was paralyzed. His vision blacked out infrequently as well as his hearing. Newt was hyperventilating.

“Shh, breathe for me, will you?” Brenda's hand was on his forehead, cool. “Thomas' sleeping, he's fine and so are you. You've just caught … something. But you're going to be okay, you hear me? If you could just relax and breathe.”

At some point, Brenda's familiar voice had mixed with a horrible high-pitched beeping sound growing louder and louder the more Newt tried to focus on his friend talking. Eventually, the sound swallowed her words and the colors blurred before his eyes. 

“Newt, stay with me Newt.” He thought it was Brenda but he could've been mistaken. The beeping was so loud now and it was stressing him out. He was probably crying. At least he felt like crying. Then he passed out.

\----

Newt woke up three days later in a bed in the hospice. The smell of disinfectant lay in the air but it seemed to belong so he didn't mind it.

He tried to turn his head to the side and the pain struck him instantly. It was close to what he thought would it feel like to be stabbed in the brain with a spear, then turning that spear around, twisting the brain. 

At that image he heaved. 

“Don't you dare get sick in the bed” he heard Brenda say at his left. He didn't try to look at her. 

“What happened?” asked Newt, surprised at the sound of his own voice. It was dry and weak.

“You and the other Gladers – and I mean everyone, the girls too – got sick.”

Maybe it was the medication he'd most likely been given or the fact that he'd been asleep for at least 72 hours straight but Newt couldn't quite wrap his head around what the girl had just said.

“How … how is that even possible?” he asked, after having repeated her answer silently for the last few minutes until her words finally made some kind of sense to him. Someone snored somewhere to his right hand side.

“I don't know. We suspect it's something the f- the shucks from WICKED did to your brains. Would explain the headache and all that. We just don't know what exactly happened. And why now.”

“And why all of us” Newt offered, pressing a hand against his temple as an exceptionally strong wave of pain rolled over him. 

“Yeah.”

“Are … are they okay? Minho and Thomas, I mean.”

“Yeah. Minho woke up yesterday and we brought him back to his hut. Too many damn Gladers for one hospice. Most of the others are in the meeting hall, sleeping on the floor on blankets but what can you do.” She sighed. “Thomas is right next to you. He's woken up a few hours ago but basically blacked out right away again. Poor kid.”

He practically heard her smile sadly but the thought of Minho being better already gave him a little hope.

“Are there any Gladers that show any kind of, you know, damage? From the sickness? Somethin' lasting?”

“I see where you're coming from. I doubt this is over quite yet but no. Nothing. There's a handful girls, Frypan, Aris and Gally that have been awake for almost a day now but they seem fine, considering.”

Newt closed his eyes again. Both, to shut out the brightness of the room and to concentrate. Why would WICKED code their brains to shut down at the same time just to go on as usual mere days later. It just didn't seem like the WICKED he'd had the displeasure to work with.

“You should try to get some more sleep, though. I'll wake you when I know some more.”

“Yeah. Okay” said Newt, not even bothering to open his eyes. He just tried to empty his mind from everything but the now dull throbbing and give his thoughts a break for once.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING for
> 
> Mentioned claustrophobia

Newt woke up with his head feeling like having been stuffed out with cotton candy. 

He stirred and rolled onto his side, tugging his arms under his head. On the opposite site, Thomas was still vast asleep, his eyes were closed but he could see his eyeballs moving.

“Hey, Tommy” Newt said, reaching over to poke the other in the arm. The dark haired boy moaned something inaudibe, then yawned and opened his eyes slowly.

“It's like the middle of the night, Newt. What's the matter?” Instantly, Thomas was propped up on his elbows, a worried expression on his face. Experience had taught him to take Newt waking him up very seriously.

The blond kid looked down for a moment as if to prepare himself. 

“Do you feel any different?” he asked straight forward because there was no polite or correct or socially acceptable way to ask that.

Thomas, seeming to think for a moment, shook his head eventually. 

“No. Not really. You?”

“Nah. That's why I'm askin'.”

The only source of light was a bright green Exit sign near the door but it was enough to make out Thomas' face perfectly, due to the all white walls and interior of the spacious room reflecting it.

“You think the others are okay, too?” the young boy asked, then. Newt shrugged. He hadn't really thought about the others. Actually, he'd only asked about Thomas' well being to know that his reaction to the operation wasn't strange.

“I dunno. Hopefully no one's died. I mean, they warned us it could happen, though.”

“Shut it, you don't really believe that” Thomas protested half-heartedly. He seemed too tired to really fight. 

“Course not. Think we'll have a group testing tomorrow?”

“Has it been a week already again?”

“I think so, I can't really keep track of time anymore, ya know?”

Thomas nodded. “Yeah. It's weird but it's kinda nice, right? Not having to care about when to do what.”

“You're probably right” Newt said though he disagreed but he'd learned not to quarrel over such small, unimportant matters.

“We should go back to sleep before they send someone up to make us” proposed Thomas and Newt felt a shiver run down his spine at his words. The last time they'd been caught talking at night, a muscular, dark-skinned man had taken Thomas away and Newt hadn't seen the guy for about three weeks or a little less.

\----

 

Green and blue walls lined Newt's way as he criss-crossed through the experiment. 

He felt the cameras watching him and he pushed himself to run even faster, even though the blood was rushing in his ears and his hands were slick with sweat.

He heard footsteps and jumped to the side just to avoid colliding with Minho, who came running from a slightly smaller corridor on the left and headed towards where Newt came from. He would've shouted to the boy that that was the wrong way but he couldn't find the strength within him.

Gally had passed out in a cul-de-sac but when Newt stopped and tried to help the guy up, a voice rang out from one of the speakers.

“Leave him, Newton. We will make sure he's collected and punished properly. Continue the trial.”

His heart was close to exploding when he bumped into Alby. 

“Watch it, dumbass” the taller boy barked at him before vanishing behind a corner. Newt was too taken aback by his rudeness to stand up. The speakers told him to but he couldn't. 

As he'd regained his power and was ready to continue he already heard the metallic sounds of the Collectors. 

He hated himself for having been so easily distracted by Alby but it was too late to return to the training already.

Employees accompanied by giant cyborg creatures were already coming towards him and guided Newt roughly towards a hidden door in one of the walls and down a long, plain corridor.

They locked him inside of a dark tiny room where he cried to be let out and be forgiven and begged to give him another chance until he tasted blood and passed out from the claustrophobia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the long hiatus, school and finals are keeping me busy 24/7 but I'll update more regularly again!


	5. Chapter 5

It was dark and his heart pounded too fast. He was gasping for air.

“Shh, keep it down, Newt” the other said, muffling a few giggles.

Alby tugged at his hair lightly and Newt's breathing calmed as he sunk against the other's chest. 

“I'm sorry” he whispered after a while.

“It's okay. You wanna tell me what they showed you?”

The green light of the Exit sign illuminated the room. Newt remembered that he used to share it with another boy but he couldn't remember his name or face and so he didn't bother.

“Pictures. Horrible pictures of burnin' people. Our planet's done, Alby. There's nothing beyond those walls.”

The other breathed a kiss on top of his head and Newt's eyes fluttered shut. 

“Probably” Alby said and Newt's heart sank a little.

“But I wouldn't wanna go there anyway. Not without you, at least.”

“I'm not goin' out there. Ever.”

“And that's why I'm stayin' here with ya.”

Alby's bed was untouched and cold next to them and Newt didn't know when he last used it. 

It was nicer to share, really. 

Warmer. More comfortable. Relaxing to sleep to the sound of Alby's heartbeat. Knowing, that there was someone there to hold Newt when he was having one of his episodes. Someone to listen to him and to whisper sweet words into his skin when he needed it. And he needed it a lot.

“You believe that stuff about us being the key to stop all this?” Alby suddenly asked, doubt obvious in his words. 

“I guess. Why else would they keep us here. Why would they protect and test a bunch of bloody kids?”

Alby shrugged, his arm around Newt tightening a little. “I'm just worried that this is all going to end badly.”

\----

They had twenty-one minutes left, according to his watch.

“Faster” Minho ordered as they fled around another corner of the blue and green maze. The white lights on the ceiling went out one by one, swallowing the sections they left behind completely.

Ben, Nick and Newt were running alongside the Asian kid as they sped along the pathway. To their left, Newt heard the bang of a door swinging open and against a wall.

“They're sendin' out the bloody Collectors” he yelled somehow managing to run even faster.

“I thought we had twenty minutes left” said Nick and then with the sound of something metallic closing, he was gone. Snatched away from just a few feet behind Newt. His eyes widened in terror. But he didn't stop running.

“Come on, we can make it, we're almost there” Minho motivated them. Suddenly, Ben slipped and vanished in the darkness. 

Without a word, Minho took Newt's hand and together they rounded another corner, the sound of the Collector getting louder with every passing second. 

“Don't let that thing get us” Newt suddenly heard himself cry out. Minho squeezed his hand as they sprinted along a winding corridor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you see, this fic is developing to be some kind of flashback series form Newt's POV. It will go back to Paradise, I think. I don't know yet, though. Comment, to let me know what you want!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS for
> 
> torture  
> blood

He was forced to look.

He knew, a few years ago he'd just sat there and watched. He didn't remember much of his past, the years blurring together and many parts missing but he was certain he'd changed ever since he'd met Alby. Really met him. 

And now he had to watch the boy he'd fallen in love with being tortured. 

Newt had been chained to the chair, a wall of glass between him and Alby as a doctor administered the drug to the boy two others had beaten unconscious before. The scenes flashed before Newt every time he blinked. A blow to the jaw, Alby coughing up blood, kicks to the rips as he was already on the floor, writhing.

Newt wasn't sure if Alby could see him through the window but after the doctor had left the circular room, the boy sprang to life. His chest was heaving in frantic breaths and his eyes were wide with terror.

“Alby!” Newt yelled, his voice failing him as the dark-skinned boy fell to his knees, holding his head in both his hands, screaming as if he had been set on fire. 

Tears falling from his eyes, the blond boy tried to get lose from the chains but they were iron and bit into his flesh as he tried to pulled his arms and legs free. His eyes were fixated on the tortured boy.

“Alby, no, no, please!”

The boy was overwhelmed with spasms, spitting blood onto the white tiles. He was crying and shaking and Newt felt a pain so deep that it knocked the air out of his lungs.

“Stop it, let him go! Please, stop this” begged the blond boy but if anyone was listening, they were ignoring him and the agony he felt as he watched his best friend staggering across the circular room, running into walls and the table he'd been lying on before, yelling and sobbing like a lunatic before breaking down again in another fit of spasms.

Newt was sure Alby was going to die in front of his eyes.

\----

Three or four days later, Newt was crying into his bedsheets, the door opened and Alby stumbled into the room.

Battered, bruised but obviously alive and Newt felt nauseous.

Alby crossed the room and before Newt could speak a word, the other's arms are around him and he was crying against Alby's shoulder.

Maybe Alby was crying too.

“You're here” Newt hiccuped and took Alby's face into his hands. “I'm so sorry, Al, this was all my fault, I shouldn't have been -”

But Alby silenced him with the idea of his lips against Newt's.

He pulled away and whispered: “They won't let me stay with you anymore, but they can't undo us, Newt.”

Newt didn't understand but soon enough a man in all white came and took Alby away and Newt was left with an emptiness in his chest, a craving on his lips and the unbearable guilt of having doomed not only himself but Alby as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> btw if you haven't guessed already, the were testing the Griever's poison on Alby lmao ttyl


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS FOR  
> blood  
> attempted suicide  
> death

A few more times Newt tried to kill himself afterward. A few months later he just ran straight at one of the Collector's, ignoring Minho's frantic screaming. But the cyborg didn't kill him. It only broke a few ribs. They gave him some meds and it healed all too well all too quickly.

Then he tried to sneak out a knife after breakfast but was caught and locked in the tiny room for days with nothing but his dark mind to keep him company.

Only a few hours after he'd been released, Newt broke the mirror in the bathroom, trying to bleed himself clean. There had to be a way out of this life. A way out. Somewhere.

After that they put Alby back in his room. 

Alby, who yelled at him and his gauze bandaging around his wrists. Alby, who kicked at the metal bed which screeched across the floor. Alby, who then broke down and cried because he should've noticed. 

Alby, who still didn't use his own bed because now he needed Newt as much as Newt needed him.

\---

Alby, who he watched struggling in the Glade with just a handful of other boys. Newt had to be replaced because he couldn't bear to witness Alby weep in hopelessness because he couldn't remember anything up to the point he'd woken up in the Glade.

They locked Newt inside his room now, completely empty, not even a bed, because there was no one to share it with him. They had to be isolated in order to be prepared for the Swipe.

Newt fought heavily against the doctors, screaming, kicking as they tried to sedate him. “I don't wanna forget! Leave me alone!” he cried under tears as two men pinned him down to the floor. He took in shallow breaths, tasting the dust and his tears. “Don't make me forget him!”

\---

The Glade. Three years in the Glade, running the Maze and instead of allowing himself to hope he jumped from the walls.

When his body crashed to the cold stone ground his scream was almost as loud as the one Alby let out when he found Newt hours later.

\---

The injuries from the jump were nothing in comparison to being forced to see the love of his live being ripped apart by Grievers right in front of him. He could have stopped him. Could have saved him. Could have at least died alongside him.

\---

 

He kept it together because he had to keep the Gladers together. The rules of the Glade had made him Leader and he was too focused on making Alby's sacrifice count to think of following him.

He relived the Scorch and the horrors it held, fighting to survive from minute to minute because every breath they took could have been their last one. 

Paradise. 

And buried underneath it all, his mother, his father, his sister, his dog. His school, his teachers and classmates. Writing a math test and failing horribly. Staying the afternoon for theater practice. Piano lessons. A party in a crowded house. Going to the park with his friends and playing a Zombie Apocalypse VirtGame. 

\---

It blurred together, spun in Newt's head, made him dizzy on the inside. Memories tumbling over dreams and hopes dancing around nightmare.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS for
> 
> mention of attempted suicide  
> visual description of symptoms for panic attacks

Newt gasped for air like he'd been drowning. His eyes wide open, oblivious to where he was, hysterical because two hands were holding him down, firmly.

“Newt, calm down.” 

He couldn't. He felt like floating in between reality, having relived the past ten years, at least. His vision failed to focus on colors, shapes and faces.

“Listen to me, you gotta calm down, shank, or we have to take ya out, ya understand me?”

Violently, he thrust out his arms and kicked with his legs to free himself from whomever was now painfully holding him down, forcefully.

“Gally, take his legs, he's having a panic attack!”

Newt tried to hold onto something, anything, as he still couldn't see and everything seemed to fall apart around him. He was spinning, flying, probably. He heard himself scream and sob.

Then someone cupped his cheeks, large hands on his face and for the first time in what seemed like years Newt inhaled and exhaled deeply, feeling his heartbeat calm and his spasms cool down.

“See. It's okay. Open your eyes, Newt, you're okay.”

He hadn't known his eyes had been closed the whole time. Slowly, still shaking, he opened up his eyelids.

“There ya go. Better now?” asked Minho. His face seemed off, a little too close, a little too pale.

Newt heard Gally grunt something and felt the pressure being released from his legs as well as Minho's hands removed from his face.

“What happened.” Newt's voice was hoarse and fragile. Minho crossed his arms in front of his chest. Gally was still out of Newt's periphery but he could hear the boy sigh in annoyance.

“The short version's, we've gotten most of our memories back” said Minho, eying him suspiciously.

“And the long one?”

“The implants in our brains died. No one knows why but all Subjects were unconscious for a good amount of time as the Swipe removed itself.”

Images of Minho, years younger, face rounder and clothes white and tidy flashed before Newt's inner eye. A green exit sign blinked in the back of his mind.

“Why” he coaxed, slowly sitting up a little against the wooden headboard. Now he could see Gally sitting at the end of his bed, looking tired with red ears and flushed cheeks. “Why now?”

“Probably because none of us were meant to live this long” the former Builder said gravely. Minho silenced him but Newt knew he was right. Thomas had told them that it had been WICKED's final goal to use their brain. Not them. 

Thomas.

“What about the others” asked Newt, worry drying his throat.

“They're alright, mostly. A little dizzy or disoriented but fine.”

“If you can call suddenly getting back memories of your past 'fine'” mocked Gally and Newt wondered what the strawberry blond had seen. Had he remembered running the green and blue maze. Had he seen Newt leaving him for the Collector's and unthinkable punishment?

“This is a lot to wrap your head around, I know but listen, whatever you saw, we're not those people anymore. Just because we remember them now doesn't mean they're any more real.”

Newt listened carefully to Minho speaking and he recalled watching the Asian boy beating up George because WICKED told him to via the speakers. He remembered seeing Minho furious, insanely laughing as if the act of pointless violence was his go at the blissful oblivion Newt knew chasing too well.

“Yeah” he said, simply. He didn't want to talk about it and neither seemed the two other boys.

Suddenly more aware of his surroundings, Newt noticed other Gladers around him, both in beds and nursing, girls and boys. He was reminded of Brenda telling him that most of the Gladers had been placed in the meeting hall.

He lolled his head to the left and was relieved to find Thomas lively talking to Aris, looking better than he imagined himself to look.

He wondered if Thomas remembered sharing a dorm with him. He wondered if his friend even cared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry for the long long wait I am terrible


End file.
